My words don't mean anything
Nor will they ever heave my weight
forward nor onward; complicit of
standing still in time with nothing,
Nothing to bring forth to my king,
The lowest of the low, the peasants
Nor the dust mites under the bed.
Yet they still come and bleed here
Plaguing your beautiful mind
With my own, desperate attempts
At revelation and selfsecurity,
A selfish endeavor to free myself
From the rhythmic banging,
The beating on my bronze cage
A ruckus in my mind and soul--
The typing of the keyboard
The... SPACE End...
